One of the things about growing up in the Midwest is that the weather teaches you something about change. Not just change itself, but the act of anticipating it. I'm certain such innate lessons are gleaned in other areas of the world, places where the hint of lilacs wafting in the air on a June evening sneaks in through your car window to remind you you're alive, places where in early December the tiniest fractions from the massive drifts of newly fallen snow on a city sidewalk seep into your shoes as you and your best friend, laughing hysterically at your good fortune for finding a place to serve you a final gin and tonic in the midst of this chaos, try to navigate through it all without falling down.

But I've never lived in those places. Only here.

For those of us who bear witness to Mother Nature's distinct alterations, we're given glimpses of what will be. We're reminded that what seemed so commonplace and constant really isn't. We are provided with signals that seem to say, "This too shall pass," a particularly disconcerting message sometime in mid-September when children have left the streets and returned to their classrooms, no longer serving as happy, daily reminders for those of us making the long trek to our offices that we once, too, thought the most serious of injustices included no trips to the neighborhood pool without first cutting the lawn.

This time of year is my favorite of all of the season changes. Even here in Chicago, living in such close proximity to Lake Michigan and the powerful gusts that accompany such geography, I can feel the wind blow across my skin and soothe me, rather than sting. I can lie across my bed at 7 p.m., curled up against a pillow, and look out the window to see the most graceful sunbeams bouncing off of the top of neighboring buildings. And, as was the case this evening, I can see a tree I've looked at every day for months on end and realize that it's dotted with the beginings of delicate pink flowers. All of this beauty, all of this excitement ... the overwhelming promise it contains.

It would be lovely to bottle and keep on my shelf.

I know that eventually I will take these things for granted. Whether we fight change or we embrace it, it happens and we adjust accordingly and forget we had to adjust in the first place. But it is this time of expectancy when we are truly blessed, before we've become complacent, before we've grown accustomed to ...

And so it's lovely here in Chicago right now. So, so lovely.

Posted by Erin at 01:43 AM | filed under: Chicago